were questioning her at New Scotland Yard that she realized she herself was not entirely free from suspicion.
The victim had bled to death, the medical examiner ruled, her blood washed down the tub drain. A safety razor used for shaving legs had been opened, its blade removed. There were razor incisions along both wrists, directed lengthwise, into the radial artery, as opposed to the shallow, crosswise cuts utilized by suicides unfamiliar with human anatomy There was, in addition, an incision in the left side of the throat. It was either a very determined suicide, or a skillfully concealed murder. In view of the absence of any signs of forced entry or of a struggle, more likely the former. The victim’s roommate did admit to a recent quarrel. Laboratory tests would indicate whether the victim might have been drugged or rendered unconscious through a blow. After that, the inquest would decide.
Lisette had explained that she had spent the evening with Dr Magnus. The fact that she was receiving emotional therapy, as they interpreted it, caused several mental notes to be made. Efforts to reach Dr Magnus by telephone proved unsuccessful, but his secretary did confirm that Miss Seyrig had shown up for her appointment the previous afternoon. Dr Magnus would get in touch with them as soon as he returned to his office. No, she did not know why he had cancelled today’s appointments, but it was not unusual for Dr Magnus to dash off suddenly when essential research demanded immediate attention.
After a while they let Lisette make phone calls. She phoned her parents, then wished she hadn’t. It was still the night before in California, and it was like turning back the hands of time to no avail. They urged her to take the next flight home, but of course it wasn’t all that simple, and it just wasn’t feasible for either of them to fly over on a second’s notice, since after all there really was nothing they could do. She phoned Maitland Redding, who was stunned at the news and offered to help in any way he could, but Lisette couldn’t think of any way. She phoned Midge Vaughn, who hung up on her. She phoned Dr Magnus, who still couldn’t be reached. Mercifully, the police took care of phoning Danielle’s next of kin.
A physician at New Scotland Yard had spoken with her briefly and had given her some pills—a sedative to ease her into sleep after her ordeal. They had driven her back to the flat after impressing upon her the need to be present at the inquest. She must not be concerned should any hypothetical assailant yet be lurking about, inasmuch as the flat would be under surveillance.
Lisette stared dully about the flat, still unable to comprehend what had happened. The police had been thorough—measuring, dusting for fingerprints, leaving things in a mess. Bleakly, Lisette tried to convince herself that this was only another nightmare, that in a moment Danielle would pop in and find her asleep on the couch. Christ, what was she going to do with all of Danielle’s things? Danielle’s mother was remarried and living in Colorado; her father was an executive in a New York investment corporation. Evidently he had made arrangements to have the body shipped back to the States.
“Oh, Danielle.” Lisette was too stunned for tears. Perhaps she should check into a hotel for now. No, she couldn’t bear being all alone with her thoughts in a strange place. How strange to realize now that she really had no close friends in London other than Danielle—and what friends she did have were mostly people she’d met through Danielle.
She’d left word with Dr Magnus’s secretary for him to call her once he came in. Perhaps she should call there once again, just in case Dr Magnus had missed her message. Lisette couldn’t think what good Dr Magnus could do, but he was such an understanding person, and she felt much better whenever she spoke with him.
She considered the bottle of pills in her bag. Perhaps it would be best to take a couple of them and sleep around the clock. She felt too drained just now to have energy enough to think.
The phone began to ring. Lisette stared at it for a moment without comprehension, then lunged up from the couch to answer it.
“Is this Lisette Seyrig?”
It was a woman’s voice—one Lisette didn’t recognize. “Yes. Who’s calling, please?”
“This is Beth Garrington, Lisette. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“That’s quite all right.”
“You